Time & Madness
by Genesis Woman
Summary: When the Agency runs out of Counteragent, Darien goes Quicksilver Mad and kills a politician with ties to Quicksilver Project and Operation Back-Step. I-Man/7 Days crossover; sequel to "Time Again."


TIME & MADNESS

****

**_Rating:  R (language, innuendo, some brutality)_**

**_Notes:  When I started writing this, we (the fans) still didn't know much about Alex Monroe or what she's really like, which is why I didn't include her in a lot of scenes here but I tried to depict her as best I could.  Also, I know absolutely nothing about Counteragent and its components, so I invented a temporary solution that seemed feasible.  Please bear with me.  Read on and hope you enjoy!_**

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters from Invisible Man or 7 Days. I-Man is owned and created by Sci-Fi Channel (or at least it _was_), Stu Segall Studios, and Studios USA. 7 Days was owned and created by Crowe Entertainment and United Paramount Network.  
Spoilers: (_The Invisible Man_) Reunion, Money for Nothing, The Camp; (_7 Days_) The Final Countdown, The Brink

Darien Fawkes arose from his bed.  He'd slept well that night, and felt pretty good.  Even the grey skies and slight mist of the new day weren't going to put him off.  He showered, and looked around for something to wear.  He chose a faded black t-shirt and khaki pants, which had slightly tattered cuffs.  He brushed his damp hair, squeezed a dab of hair gel onto his palm, and smoothed it through his hair.  He spread his fingers out like a comb and used his hand to spike up his hair.  When he was satisfied with the results, he smiled and turned to look for a pair of socks.  He put them on, then slipped on a pair of sneakers.  He opened his closet door and pulled out his favorite tan jacket (the one with the two mismatched pockets) and checked the tattoo on his wrist; half the segments were red.  "Time for a booster shot," he said aloud, and headed out.

*~*~*~*

Meanwhile, Frank B. Parker groggily raised his head from his drool-soaked pillow.  "Ughh…" he groaned, furrowing his brow.  "Gotta cut back on all-nighters."  He threw the wet pillow on the floor and got up.  As soon as he sat up, he felt a rush of pain surging throughout his temples and forehead.  He blinked, but that seemed to aggravate the pain even more.  Then someone knocked on his door.  "Come in," he moaned.  Olga Vukavitch opened the door and poked her head in.

"Good morning, Mr. Parker," Olga greeted pleasantly.  "You have a physical today in twenty minutes.  I hope you haven't forgotten."

"Yeah," Frank mumbled and stood up.  Olga's eyes widened and she quickly looked away.

"Oh, Mr. Parker, _please_!" she cried.  Frank cocked an eyebrow.

"Wha…?"  He then looked down and realized he was stark naked.  Even worse, his "little buddy" was cheerfully up and about.  Frank quickly grabbed the blanket off his bed and wrapped it around his waist.  "Jeez, I'm _really_ sorry, Olga!  I…  I…"

"Just make sure you're on time!  And _dressed_!" she shouted, and closed the door—but not before quickly peeking at him and giving him a tiny smirk.  Frank smiled wickedly.

"Oh yeah.  She wants me."  He looked down, still feeling stiff and a bit tingly.  "Down, boy, down!  Think Ramsey naked."  As soon as he saw that image in his mind's eye, his erection immediately went limp.  He dropped his blanket and headed for the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would soothe his hangover.

*~*~*~*

When Darien arrived at the Agency, he heard the Keeper shouting at the Official in his office.  Darien's eyebrows went up—he'd never heard Claire so much as raise her voice at the Fat Man.  He quietly walked over and eavesdropped behind the closed door.

"I need those materials now!" Claire shouted.

"Do you have any idea how much this is costing us?" the Official shouted back.

"Why is money all you care about?  I've only got half a phial of Counteragent left!"  Darien froze; that wasn't good news.

"You'll have to wait!  We can't afford to have these materials shipped express!  Besides, what happened to your usual supply?"

"I had two canisters, and they went bad," she confessed tensely.  "I don't know what happened; I must've miscalculated a measurement somewhere."

"Well, that's your fault."  Darien heard silence; then Claire sighed heavily.  As her footsteps came closer to the door, Darien Quicksilvered.  The door opened and Claire rushed out angrily.  She headed to the stairwell and went down to the Keep.  Darien un-Quicksilvered.

"Oh my god," he whispered.  He checked his tattoo; another segment had turned red.  He removed a key card from his pocket and ran to the Keep.  He ran the card through the scanner, the door opened, and he walked in.  Claire was looking around in the refrigerator  "OK, I confess—I overheard everything!"

"Heard what?" she asked, without turning around.

"There's no more Counteragent?" Darien asked.  Claire stopped what she was doing.  She closed the refrigerator and faced him.

"I only have a very small amount."

"I need it now," he said, showing her the tattoo.

"Fine," she agreed.  "But it may not do much, so you'll have to refrain from using Quicksilver until I can make more."

"How long is that going to take?"

"The supplies will get here in three days, and as you know it takes me two days to make the Counteragent," she replied dryly.  Darien sat on the chair and removed his jacket.

"Go ahead."  He held out his arm.  Claire found the phial with the remaining Counteragent and extracted it with a syringe.  Darien swallowed nervously when he saw how much she had—barely two tablespoons worth.  She stuck the needle in his arm and injected the blue serum into his vein.  When she was done, Darien put his jacket back on and checked his tattoo.  Unfortunately only two segments had returned to green and one segment was flashing both colors.

"Ah, crap."

*~*~*~*

Darien, Bobby Hobbes, and Alexandra Monroe gathered in the Official's office later that afternoon.  The Official was beaming rather smugly.

_Cheap bastard_, Darien thought bitterly.

"Gentlemen," the Official announced.  Alex raised her eyebrow.  "And lady.  A special friend is coming to town this evening to hold a private soiree."

"Who's this special friend?" Darien asked suspiciously.

"Senator Mitchell Carrington," Eberts replied.  "Senator Carrington was one of the privileged few to donate funds for the genesis of the Quicksilver Project."

"That's right.  Mitch wishes to check on the status of his investment," the Official continued.

"Wow, you guys actually have good connections," Alex complimented.  "I'm impressed."

"A politician paid for this?" Darien asked.  "How?"

"Fawkes, you never heard of the Carringtons?" Bobby scoffed.  "He's a golden boy!  His grandfather Tom Carrington started up a logging company in the 1920's; made a fortune!  This guy Mitchell donated money out of his own pocket.  Any politician who would do that is pretty decent in Bobby Hobbes' book."  Bobby winked.

"Gee, an honest and generous senator.  I thought those only existed in fairy tales," Darien retorted sarcastically.  The Official frowned.

"You'd better be on your best behavior tonight, Fawkes," he warned.

"You're hittin' him up for another coin in your pocket, aren't you?" Darien guessed disgustedly.

"Senator Carrington is willing to give more funds if he likes what he sees, yes," Eberts admitted.

"Shut up, Eberts!" the Official hissed.

"Well, good," Darien smiled.  "Any money he gives you can be used to get me more Counteragent, seeing as how it's all gone now."  He got up and leaned over the Official's desk.  "Better yet, maybe you can use it for more research on how to get this damn thing out of my head."

"We'll see," the Official replied crossly.  "I want all of you to meet me here tonight at 6:30.  Dress appropriately, and don't be late."  Darien, Bobby, and Alex all got up from their seats and walked out.

"Let's go for coffee," Bobby suggested when they were all in the hallway.

"Sure," Darien agreed.  "How about that place—"

"No, you won't," Alex interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Bobby asked.

"I got another lead on the whereabouts of my son, and I need you two."

"Will this involve me going invisible?" Darien asked.

"It might," Alex answered.  Darien shook his head.

"I can't help you," he explained.  He showed her his tattoo.  (By then, the flashing segment had turned red.)  "I'd be cutting it close.  There's no more Counteragent left."  Alex frowned; her expression shifted somewhere between disappointment and anger.

"Fine.  I'll go without either of you," she sniffed, and turned away.  Bobby noticed the guilt on Darien's face.

"She's a 5-Star-A agent, Fawkes," Bobby murmured.  "She can take care of herself, my friend."

"Yeah, but… it's her _kid_," Darien sighed.  He began to follow Alex.  "Wait!  I'll help you."  Alex looked at him and smiled.

"Good," she said.  "Let's go."

*~*~*~*

MEANWHILE, IN NEVADA…

Bradley Talmadge, the director of operations for Project Back-Step, escorted Senator Mitchell Carrington to his private jet.  He had just concluded a tour of the Never-Never Land premises with the senator; Carrington had been impressed by the Time Sphere and project staff.  But…

"Dr. Talmadge," Carrington began, "have you been pleased by the overall performance of Frank Parker?"

"Actually, yes," Talmadge affirmed.  "Time and again, Frank has risked his life to save not only this country, but all of humanity from irreversible disaster."  Carrington thought for a moment.

"But what about that inflammatory email he sent to the NSA Panel?" Carrington asked.  Talmadge sighed; he wished the Panel would just forgive and forget.  After several bottles of beer, (as a joke) Frank wrote an angry and insulting letter to the Panel.  He claimed he didn't mean to send it, that it was an accident.  Unfortunately, a nuclear disaster and a major problem with the Time Sphere reactor caused them to lose time—meaning Frank back-stepped to prevent an American missile from deploying, but not in time to prevent the email from getting sent.

"Frank was properly disciplined for that incident," Talmadge assured him.

"But what about his history at Hansen Island?" Carrington continued, referring to the CIA asylum Frank had been in.  "And what about his boarder-line alcoholism?"

"Senator Carrington, I completely understand your concerns, but I assure you that your contribution to Project Back-Step has not been in vain," Talmadge reaffirmed.  "Yes, it's true Frank has what you'd call a rather sketchy background, but he has proven to be a valuable asset to this program.  And I stake my reputation on that statement."

"But what about Craig Donovan?" Carrington pressed.  "He's as good a soldier as Parker, with all the right qualifications.  Why is he only the military advisor?"

"I won't deny Donovan's importance in this project," Talmadge admitted.  "If anything should ever happen to Frank, Craig will certainly take his place.  Craig has the training to be a Chrononaut, but truthfully he's not up to par.  Frank possesses a certain trait necessary for the brutal demands of back-stepping:  a high tolerance for pain."  Carrington nodded.

"I trust your judgment, Dr. Talmadge."  Carrington then chuckled.  "I suppose I shouldn't complain.  It's an honor enough to be here, to be part of this top-secret experiment.  I guess money really _can_ buy your way into anything."  Talmadge smiled politely; Carrington bit his lip.  "I'm sorry; that was crass."

"No need, Senator," Talmadge replied.  Carrington glanced over at his jet, whose running engine told him it was time to go.

"I've got to get going now," Carrington said.  He shook Talmadge's hand.  "Thank you."

"Of course," Talmadge smiled.  Carrington turned to board his jet.  He took a seat and fastened his seatbelt.

_Well, so far I'm a bit unsure about this Parker person; somehow I doubt this next fellow, this Darien Fawkes, will ease my uncertainties_, he mused.

*~*~*~*

Darien ran out of the empty house, shed his Quicksilver, and jumped into the van.  He screamed "Drive!" at Bobby, and slammed the door as the van sped off.

"What happened?" Alex cried.

"It was a set-up," Darien answered, catching his breath.  "I'm pretty sure someone from Chrysalis gave you that lead."

"How do you know?" Bobby asked.

"Because when I went in, there were two guys with guns and thermal goggles.  Luckily they were lousy shots."  He sighed and checked his tattoo; two more segments had turned red.  His heart began to thump loudly in his chest.  "Oh my god."

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"I got four good segments left," Darien replied worriedly.

"Ah, crap," Bobby sighed.  "What are you going to do about tonight?"

"Maybe it's time I give that penny-pinching son of a bitch exactly what he deserves," Darien glowered.

"Fawkes," Bobby warned.  "You don't want to do that."

"Why?  What are you talking about?" Alex asked.

"You're in for a treat tonight, Alex.  You'll see me turn into an evil asshole," Darien smirked.  Alex wrinkled her nose and moved away from him.

"Fawkes, don't do it!" Bobby yelled.

"What choice do I have?!  There's no Counteragent!" Darien shouted.  Just then, he felt a dull ache in his head and he grunted softly.

"Oh no," Bobby groaned.

*~*~*~*

At 6:30 that evening, the three agents and the Keeper met the Official and Eberts at the Agency.  Bobby had picked out a black pin-stripe suit, white shirt and black silk tie.  Alex wore an olive green cocktail dress that accentuated her eyes magnificently.  She had a black Spanish-style lacy shawl around her shoulders, and tapped her strappy three-inch stiletto shoe impatiently.  Claire was wearing a pale pink gown, and her long blonde hair was swept up rather casually.  Even her sullen expression couldn't take away lovely she looked.  Darien, on the other hand…

"I thought I told you to dress appropriately!" the Official snapped at Darien.

"Oh, yeah, well, I couldn't find anything nice," Darien answered nonchalantly—he hadn't even changed his clothes.  "Besides, isn't the good senator more interested in _not_ seeing me?"  The Official sneered.

"Fine, but watch yourself," the Official warned, pointing his finger at the rebellious ward.

"Sir, the limousines are here," Eberts announced.

"Thank you, Eberts.  Let's go."  As the six headed out, Bobby pulled Darien back.

"You sure you know what you're doing, my friend?" Bobby whispered.  Darien swallowed.

"No, I don't," he admitted nervously.  Bobby put his hand on the taller man's shoulder and gently squeezed.

"Whatever happens, I know it wasn't your fault, partner," Bobby said, smiling weakly.  "Let's go."

*~*~*~*

Later that evening, Darien was sitting back on a couch in the senator's mansion, sulking.  The Keeper approached him.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.  Darien looked up at her and shrugged.  She plopped down next to him and sighed.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Everything," Claire pouted.  "I just… feel so… _stupid_.  It's my fault the Counteragent went bad, you know.  I can't believe I did that!  I'm so careful!  What did I do wrong?"  She leaned forward and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Well, even the best of us make mistakes," he responded, trying to console her.  "Hope that makes you feel better."

"It doesn't," she grinned in spite of herself.  Darien patted her knee.  Eberts strolled over to the couch and cleared his throat.

"Senator Carrington is ready to see you now," Eberts announced.  Claire and Darien rose from the couch, and followed Eberts.  He lead them down a hallway and into a study where the senator, the Official, Alex and Hobbes were already waiting.

"Please, come in," Carrington summoned.  The three entered and Eberts shut the door.  Claire sat down next to Alex and Bobby.  Carrington was sitting in front of his desk, with Eberts and the Official on either side of him.  Darien noticed that Carrington did not look happy at all.

"Something wrong, Sir?" Darien asked him.

"The Official has just given me a summary of your background," Carrington retorted curtly.  _Oh no_, Darien thought, grimacing.

"Senator, please don't hold it against him," the Official implored.  "Agent Fawkes has shown a lot of promise in the year since he's been with this Agency."  Darien forced a grin.  _Don't defend or compliment me, you goddamn hypocrite,_ he brooded.

"But you understand my reservations, don't you?" Carrington pressed.

"Yes, Sir, I do," replied the Official.  "But you will change your mind when you see what Agent Fawkes is capable of."  Carrington sighed, and sat back in his chair.  Darien cleared his throat and stretched out his arms.  He sent a mental nudge to the Gland and Quicksilver began to trickle onto his left arm, flowing all over until the arm disappeared.  The senator jumped out of his seat and his jaw fell.  Darien did the same with his right arm until it too disappeared.

"Oh my god," Carrington whispered.  Darien closed his eyes and concentrated; the Quicksilver flowed out of the pores on the rest of his body and covered him.  "Amazing!" Carrington cried.  Darien's head began to pound and his knees buckled.  He shook the Quicksilver off and prayed for strength to stand up straight.  Carrington applauded; he stood in front of Darien and said, "Well done!"  He patted Darien on the shoulder, but Darien slapped it off roughly.

"Don't touch me!" he growled.  Carrington's smile was replaced by surprise.  The surprise was then replaced by fear as he looked into Darien's blood-red eyes.  He stepped back.

"What's going on here?" Carrington demanded.  Everyone else stood up.  Darien fell forward, clutching his head and whimpering.  Claire ran to his side.

"I knew this would happen!" she cried.  Darien looked up and glared at her.  

"You _knew_ this would happen?!" he shouted at her.  "Of course you did, you dumb bitch!  You screwed up the Counteragent!"  He shoved her aside and stood up, pointing at Carrington.  "You!  You paid to start up this mess and now you're going to clean it up!"  The Official, Eberts, Bobby and Alex shielded Carrington.  Bobby reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun.

"Don't make me use this, Fawkes," Bobby warned, aiming his gun.  Darien strolled up to Bobby and let the tip of the gun's barrel rest on his chest.  He smiled wickedly.

"We both know you won't," Darien murmured.  Bobby blinked and Darien punched him in the face.  Claire screamed, Eberts and the Official backed off.  Alex raised her leg to kick Darien, but he grabbed her foot before it could touch him and pushed her down.  Darien headed for Carrington, who was trying to run out.  "Oh no, you don't."  He ran in front of Carrington and blocked his every move.  "You're going for a ride with me, _Mitch_.  Let's go."  He grabbed Carrington by the arm and dragged him out.  Bobby and Alex recovered, and ran after them.  The hallway was empty.

"Go left, I'll go right," Bobby directed.  Alex nodded, and went off.  He creeped down the hall, grasping his gun firmly.  The other guests in the parlor began screaming, and Bobby could guess why.  He rushed into the parlor, saw the frightened guests, and looked around.  "Where did they go?"  The all pointed to the staircase.  Bobby ran up the stairs; as he got closer to the top, he slowed down and raised his gun.  He moved into the hallway, and noticed a light coming from under a closed door.  He kicked the door open, but saw only an empty room.  As Bobby looked around, Darien un-Quicksilvered himself and the senator in the hallway.  He held his hand tighter on Carrington's mouth, moved carefully to the door, and shut it before Bobby could see him.  As the door slammed, Bobby turned around and ran to the door.  He tried to turn the knob and cursed when he discovered it was locked.  Darien Quicksilvered himself and the senator again, ignoring Bobby's cries from behind the door.   His days as a cat burglar sure came in handy whenever he needed to elude his partner.  As he arrived downstairs, the Official and the rest of the Agency crew were interrogating the guests.  He just shoved right through them and headed out the door.  The commotion caused the Official to scream, "Fawkes!  Stop!" but Darien kept going.  Outside in the parking lot, he un-Quicksilvered and ordered the senator to give him his car keys.  Carrington fumbled through his pockets, and handed Darien a single key on a leather keychain.

"Which one is yours?" Darien asked.  Carrington shakily pointed to a black Jaguar.  Darien smiled.  "Nice.  Now let's go."  He grabbed the senator by the collar and pulled him toward the car.  They got in and Darien sped off.  The Agency crew ran out; seeing the car leaving, Bobby drew out his gun and fired.  Unfortunately, he only hit the bumper and the trunk.  Darien laughed fiendishly; Bobby wouldn't _dare_ harm him.

*~*~*~*

Bradley Talmadge had asked the Back-Step team to assemble in the briefing room.  One by one, Olga Vukavitch, Craig Donovan, Nathan Ramsey, Andrew "Hooter" Owsley, and Frank B. Parker entered somberly and sat down.  Talmadge picked up a remote control and clicked on the large television screen.

"What's going on, Bradley?" Frank asked.

"There's been a series of murders in Southern California," Talmadge began.  "None of the victims are connected in any way, except it seems they were all killed by the same person."

"What's the M.O.?" Frank inquired.

"All of the victims have been beaten or bludgeoned by a sharp object.  And if that didn't kill them, then a twisted neck did," Talmadge informed them.  "And the California State Police have found an I.D. on the killer."  He clicked the remote again; the team watched a surveillance tape of a tall lanky figure entering a convenience store.  The man had his back to the camera; he sauntered up to the clerk behind the register and spoke to him.  The clerk looked up and backed off in fear.  The man lunged forward and grabbed the clerk.  The clerk struggled, but the attacker dragged him over the counter and snapped his neck.  When he was done, the tall man turned around and looked directly into the camera.  Frank slowly rose from his seat—he recognized the killer.  He looked closer as the man he considered a friend stared into the camera with ghastly silver eyes, smiled, and waved.  His mouth moved and seemed to say, "Catch me if you can."  Talmadge paused the screen.

"Darien Fawkes," Frank whispered.  He ran his hand through his hair.  "But what does any of this have to do with us?"

"Five days ago, Senator Mitchell Carrington was abducted from his home during a private soiree.  Darien Fawkes did it," Talmadge stated rather simply.

"Why?" Donovan asked.  "He seemed like a good guy when we first met him.  What happened?"

"I bet I know what happened," Frank let out.  "You guys remember that disk I brought back last time I met Fawkes?  There was all this information about the gland in his head, how it makes him go crazy if he uses it too much."

"That's right, Frank," Talmadge confirmed.  "His Agency calls it Quicksilver Madness.  Apparently they had run out of the antidote used to prevent the Madness.  Counteragent, it's called."

"Why didn't they just whip up a new batch?" Frank asked.

"Because it takes time to concoct it," Talmadge answered.  "And it seems our friend the Official was unwilling to have the necessary materials shipped at once."  Frank rolled his eyes.

"That Official guy ought to be locked up for public endangerment," Ramsey piped in.

"For once I'm with Ramsey," Frank agreed.  "So we're doing a back-step?"

"No, not yet.  The senator's body hasn't been found yet, so we don't know for sure if he's dead," Talmadge revealed.  "The Panel has put us on full alert.  That's all I can tell you for now; you're dismissed."  Everyone in the room rose from their seats and filed out, except for Frank.

"Hey, Bradley," Frank began.  "How come the senator's kidnapping hasn't made it into the headlines?  I'd say this is pretty big news."

"Everyone connected to Senator Carrington has been asked not to leak this to the press.  We absolutely cannot have the media digging into the senator's secret connections.  The risk is too great."  Frank nodded.

"I got ya," he sighed, and left the room.

*~*~*~*

Bobby pulled the van over.  The solitary man walking by the side of the empty road did not stop.  Bobby got out of the van and pursued the walker.

"Fawkes!" he yelled; Darien continued walking.  Bobby followed but found it hard to keep up with the taller man's long strides.  "Fawkes!"  Darien finally slowed down and eventually stopped.

"Robert," Darien greeted coolly as he faced his former partner.  "There's no way you can take me in, you know."

"Sure there is.  The Keep can cook up some Stage 5 Counteragent, just like Arnaud gave you, and you'll be all set," Bobby grinned hopefully.

"Oh, Robert, Robert, Robert," Darien laughed.  He then knocked on Bobby's head.  "Anyone home?  Don't you remember?  Arnaud never gave anyone else the formula for Stage 5 Counteragent!  And it's too late—it's been six days and I'm… irretrievable."  Bobby sighed in defeat, Darien began to walk away again.  "Besides, I don't want to go back.  No one's gonna pull my strings anymore.  And I'm certainly not going to let anymore fucking Counteragent rule over me.  Now I suggest you get back in your van and drive away, Robert, or I'll kill you."  Bobby pulled out his gun and aimed it at Darien, who stopped when he heard the click of the release.  He turned and smiled.  "You think you're gonna kill me?"

"I'm hopin' it won't come to that, my friend."

"You're starting to sweat."

"Come back, and I won't shoot."

"You won't shoot anyway."

"You think I'm bluffing?"

"I dare you," Darien smirked.  "Do it, damn you!"  Bobby swallowed; he felt sweat lightly trickle over his face as he silently prayed for God to forgive him for what he was about to do.  Bobby pulled the trigger back.

**_BANG!_**

Darien's cocky expression turned to surprise as he looked down and watched his blood spill out of his chest.

"Good shot."

He dropped to his knees and fell forward.  Bobby let go of his gun, and stood right where he was.

_No, don't think about it!  Just grab him and take him back!_  He grabbed Darien's shoulders and lugged him to the back of the van.  He opened the back doors and shoved the body in.  He shut the doors and stepped into the driver's seat.  _Shit, what did I do?_  He leaned his head on the steering wheel and choked back a sob.  _No! No, don't do this._  He fought to keep the events of the last ten minutes from sinking in.  _Great, now I'm gonna have to start taking Prozac in addition to the Zoloft._  Bobby started up the van and began to drive away.  At that moment, more than ever, he wished he had someone to talk to, so he could temporarily forget his recent transgression.

*~*~*~*

"Did you remove the gland?" Bobby asked the Keeper.

"No," Claire answered sadly.  "It was too far into Stage 5."  Bobby sighed, somewhat relieved.  He bit his lip.

"There was nothing I could do, right?" he asked her.  "I mean, he was so far gone, nothing would've helped.  He would've kept on killing people, for sick pleasure.  I did what I had to do, right?  You don't know the recipe for Stage 5 Counteragent, I don't know the recipe for Stage 5 Counteragent, the Official don't know, Eberts don't know.  No, I did what I had to do.  Darien wasn't cooperating, I couldn't say anything to make him cooperate…"  Claire quietly listened to his rambling, knowing that if he stopped talking he might start to cry.

"There was nothing you could do," she interrupted gently.  Bobby paused; he snorted.

"Not a _fucking_ thing I could do!" he screamed, banging his hand on the table.  Claire jumped back at his angry outburst.  He paced back and forth in the room, covering his face with his hands, trying not to let her see that he'd started crying.  He hated crying, especially in front of women.  Claire stopped him and held him, allowing him to let it all out.  Despite himself, this is why he loved the Keeper—she always tried to be cool and distant, but he knew underneath she had a compassionate heart.  And he felt safe at that moment.

*~*~*~*

The urgent knocking on his door woke Frank from his sleep.  He rolled out of bed and trudged to the door. Ramsey's face appeared.

"What do you want?" Frank yawned.

"Get your suit on; you're back-stepping now," Ramsey ordered.  Frank rubbed his eyes.

"Now?  What time is it?"

"It's 2 a.m.  Now get going."  Ramsey turned and strode away.

"Ah crap," Frank whined.

*~*~*~*

Frank zipped up his suit, picked up his helmet and bag, and headed toward the hangar.  Several technicians were making last-minute adjustments to the Sphere and equipment.  Talmadge had filled him in on the recent events:  the senator's body had been found at 1 a.m. in the trunk of his own car, five miles from the convenience store where Darien had attacked the clerk.  The morning before, Darien had been shot by his partner Hobbes.  Ramsey told Frank they'd pick up the tab for the express shipment of the Counteragent ingredients.  Frank climbed the stairs leading to the Sphere's hatch and entered it.  He put his helmet on, sat in his seat, and buckled himself in.  Two techs closed the hatch as Frank started to flip the switches on.  The Sphere began to shake; he grabbed on to the steering lever.

"Reactor at eighty percent," Owsley said over the intercom.

"Reactor at ninety percent."

"Reactor at one hundred percent.  Engage!"

Frank hit the main button and pulled the lever back.  The hatch filled with smoke, electric bolts encircled the Sphere.  He held the lever and fought to keep it steady, as the days began to go backwards.

Thursday… found body senator's…

Wednesday… Hobbes by shot Fawkes…

Tuesday… Fawkes by killed clerk… eyes silver…

Monday… spree…

Sunday… killing…

Saturday… California…

Friday… Mad Quicksilver goes Fawkes…

The Sphere crashed.  Frank unbuckled himself from his chair and unlocked the hatch door.  He pulled his helmet off and coughed as the smoke that had filled in front of his face blew away.  He groggily jumped out of the Sphere and fell on the ground.  _Where the hell am I?_  He stood up carefully and looked at his surroundings; he'd landed in the desert, right at sunrise.  Frank went back to the hatch and removed his bag.  He unzipped the bag and searched for his cellular phone.  Once his fingers felt the hard plastic, he pulled it out and dialed.  "This is Conundrum.  Let me speak to Bradley Talmadge."

*~*~*~*

"I need those materials now!" Claire shouted.

"Do you have any idea how much this is costing us?" the Official shouted back.

"Why is money all you care about?  I've only got half a phial of Counteragent left!"  Darien froze outside the Official's office; that wasn't good news.

"You'll have to wait!  We can't afford to have these materials shipped express!  Besides, what happened to your usual supply?"

"I had two canisters, and they went bad," she confessed tensely.  "I don't know what happened; I must've miscalculated a measurement somewhere."

"Well, that's your fault."  Darien heard silence; then Claire sighed heavily.  As her footsteps came closer to the door, Darien Quicksilvered.  The door opened and Claire rushed out angrily.  She headed to the stairwell and went down to the Keep.  Darien turned to follow her, but noticed a familiar figure in the hallway headed in his direction.  He shed the Quicksilver.

"Frank?  Frank Parker?" he called out.  Frank jumped back at seeing Darien appear out of nowhere.  He recovered and smiled.

"Fawkes!  Good to see you again!"  He held out his hand and Darien shook it.

"What brings you here, man?"

"Security reasons.  What about you?  You doin' OK?" Frank asked.  Darien hesitated—he looked at his tattoo and saw that another segment had turned red.

"Um, yeah, so far.  But I need my Counteragent and the Fat Man's not cooperating."  Darien showed Frank his wrist.

"Hmm," Frank remarked thoughtfully.  "What about your Keeper?  Can't she give you anymore?"  Frank knew well enough that she couldn't.

"No, she's out of vodka and tomato juice for the Bloody Mary," Darien joked.  "The old man's not about to drop another cent to get any of the stuff here quicker."  Frank nodded.  "Um, did you say you were here for security reasons?  What's going on?"

"I'll explain in a minute," Frank answered as he opened the door of the Official's office.  "Excuse me."

"Agent Parker?  What are you doing here?" the Official demanded.

"I've been sent here by the NSA," he explained as he sat down.  Darien stood behind him, arms folded.  "Security reasons."

"Oh really?"

"Yes.  We understand you're expecting a visit from one Senator Mitchell Carrington?"

"And?  Why is the NSA so interested?"

"Because, we have special connections to the senator as well.  We just want to make sure his visit here goes smoothly."

"What makes you think we can't handle Senator Carrington's safety without the NSA hovering over us?"

"Well, this is just a routine inspection," Frank explained.  "Everything looked like it was in top form, and then I came across this."  He took Darien's wrist and held it up.  "Isn't Agent Fawkes getting dangerously close to Quicksilver Madness?"  The Official glared at both of them.  Darien smiled triumphantly.  "Agent Fawkes poses a serious threat to the senator."

"Do you really think you can just waltz in here and tell me how to run my Agency?"

"I'll make it simple for you," Frank murmured, got up, leaned over the Officials' desk and eyed him squarely in the face.  "You get Fawkes his Counteragent, we'll let you borrow Carrington."  The Official slowly rose and leaned in.

"We haven't got the necessary funds to get the materials here," he said through gritted teeth.

"Fine.  We'll pay for it."

"You'll what?"

"The NSA will pay for immediate delivery," Frank grinned.  Darien was taken aback; the Official's face softened.

"Well, I suppose that's all right," the Official answered slowly.

"Good.  Call your supplier now, and I'll get my people to pony up the cash."

"Thanks, man," Darien whispered as Frank headed to the hallway, cell phone in hand.  Frank gave him thumbs up, and left.  Alex Monroe entered the office.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"My hero," Darien smiled.  "What's up?"

"I need your help…"

*~*~*~*

Frank knocked on the door to the Keep.  He steadied the box he held in his hand, careful not to lose his grip.  The door slid open; Claire's mouth opened in…

"Surprise!" Frank greeted cheerfully.

"Agent Parker," Claire began.  "What are you…  What's that in you hands?"  She noticed the mid-sized parcel with "Fragile" and "Perishables" labels on it.

"What, this little thing?" he asked as he set the box down on her desk.  "I've been informed that you're…"  He stopped in front of her fish tank, somewhat startled by the piranhas calmly swimming about.  "You're, uh, low on Counteragent.  What's with the fish?"

"How do you know about that?" Claire asked incredulously.

"I'm with NSA, remember?  We know all sorts of stuff about you guys," he grinned.  "But seriously, we know a certain senator is awaiting a visit from your Agency tonight, but Darien Fawkes poses a threat to the senator's well-being if he goes on much longer without his fix."

"I see.  And you paid to get the Counteragent chemicals here yourself."

"Well, no, not me.  The NSA did.  For security reasons, you understand."

"Right," she drawled.  "Well, I think I'll get started then."

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Do you know anything about chemistry or physics?" she asked, with a rather superior tone.

"Uh…  Mixing soda and pop-rock candy makes your stomach go boom?"

"I didn't think so."  She removed a packing knife from a drawer in her desk and proceeded to carefully run it through the top of the box, slitting the tape and opening the flaps.  She felt relief removing each perfectly packed bottle.  She set them on the table and rifled through a cabinet, looking for beakers.  She found three different-sized beakers and lit the Bunsen burner.  She felt Frank's eyes on her, and noticed the crooked grin on his face.  "_What_?"

"Nothing, just observing the lovely Keeper at work."

"I wish you wouldn't," she frowned.

"Aw, c'mon.  Maybe there's _some_ way I can help," he insisted sweetly.

"No, thank you," she answered firmly.  She set about in her task of carefully measuring and mixing the liquids.  Frank sighed and decided to acquaint himself with the Keep.  After a few minutes, he found nothing of interest to him.  He sat in front of the computer and decided to surf the internet.  Claire heard him typing on the computer and stopped.  "What do you think you're doing?"

"Relax, I'm not snooping into your diary; I'm just going online," he protested.  She lowered her eyes skeptically but continued with her work.  As Frank typed away, he began to chuckle.  She tried to force the curiosity out of her mind, but as Frank kept giggling, it got the best of her.

"What's so funny?"

"Ramsey."

"Pardon?"

"I'm in a chat room with Ramsey, but he doesn't know it's me."

"You're chatting on _my_ computer?" she huffed.  "It's not a toy, you know."  She put the jars down and marched over to the computer.  "Turn it off now."

"Aw, come on," he complained.  "Just play along with me.  It's funny!"

"Is it a private chat room?"

"Yeah.  Just me and him.  I'm MFP, he's Mr_GQ," Frank snorted.

"What's MFP stand for?"

"It's Mr. Frank Parker, but I told him it stood for Miss February Playmate.  He bought it!" Frank laughed.

"How do you know it's him?"

"Well, we got this kid working with us named Hooter, who's a real whiz with computers and stuff.  Ramsey's chief of security; he's a big-time blow-hard with both of us, so Hooter and me surfed the 'Net looking for any of his usual hangouts," Frank explained.  "We found him lurking in a singles' chat room!"

"You're so mean!" Claire chided.

"No way, he's asking for it!  Watch this."

**Mr_GQ** So what are you wearing?

**MFP** Just a thong and a smile.

**Mr_GQ** Ooo…  Naughty girl!

**MFP** The air conditioning here at Hugh's mansion is broken and it's sooo hot…

Claire began to smile.  "It gets better," Frank grinned.

**Mr_GQ** So what's the good word at the mansion these days?

**MFP** Gee, where do I start?  Well, Hugh had to give Miss March a firm spanking last night.

**Mr_GQ** Really?  Why?

**MFP** He caught her masturbating in the bathroom.

Claire guffawed.  "Frank!" she yelled, giving him a playful whack on the arm.

**Mr_GQ** Wow…  Would you give me a good spanking?

**MFP** Sure… bring it on!

**Mr_GQ** Would you spank me with a leather whip?

**MFP** Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a tongue-lashing?

By then, both Frank and Claire had lost control; he howled with laughter and she was bent over giggling.  She laughed in spite of herself; normally she didn't find these types of shenanigans humorous.  But she needed a release from the pressure of the Counteragent situation, and couldn't help herself at the moment.  Just then the door opened, and Bobby and Darien burst in.  As Frank and Claire tried to recover, Bobby eyed Frank jealously.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Claire giggled.  "Frank's being a total prat, is all."  Frank chuckled and shut off Claire's computer.

"What's up?" Frank asked.

"Darien needs Counteragent," Bobby said urgently.  Claire and Frank stopped smiling.

"Just gimme what you got, please," Darien begged.  

"What did you do?" Frank asked.

"I had to help Alex find her kid—"

"Who?"

"Alex Monroe, she's the new agent here.  Someone stole her son, she got a lead on his whereabouts, I helped her and nearly got shot at," Darien explained quickly.  "Look, I know you have a little left, Claire.  Please let me have it."  He showed her his tattoo, now more than three-quarters full.

"All right, all right," she agreed.  Darien winced and held his head.

"More headaches?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Darien moaned.  Claire went to the refrigerator, and removed the phial of remaining Counteragent.

"Let me help you with that," Frank offered, reaching out to take the phial.

"No, _I'll_ help her," Bobby interrupted gruffly.  He tried to push Frank's hand away; the Keeper swerved unsuccessfully as the two men's hands tried to grab hers.  Both their hands knocked the phial from her grip, and they all watched dumbly as it hit the floor and broke, spilling the last bit of Darien's hope.  His mouth fell open.

"You fucking idiots!" Darien screamed.  "Do you two dickheads know what you just did?!"

"Fawkes, it was an accident," Frank apologized.

"You jerk," Darien snarled.  He strode over to Frank and grabbed him by the neck.  He squeezed and lifted him up.  Frank gagged and struggled to breathe.

"Fawkes, no!" Bobby yelled.

"You're next," Darien threatened his partner.  Claire opened a drawer from her desk.  She took out her gun, and shot a tranquilizer into Darien's rear.  His body tensed up, he dropped Frank, and collapsed.  Frank fell to the floor and coughed.

"You OK?" Bobby asked him.

"Yeah," Frank croaked, and coughed again.  "Well, looks like you're gonna have to postpone the party with the senator."

"What do we do about Fawkes?" Bobby asked Claire.  "It's gonna take you two days to cook up the Counteragent.  He could go into Stage 5 Madness by then."

"What's Stage 5?" Frank asked.

"It's the next highest phase of Quicksilver Madness," Claire explained.  "His eyes turn silver and he becomes a sociopath.  And unfortunately, regular Counteragent doesn't do anything at that stage."  Frank was silent as he looked at Darien lying on the floor.

"Are you absolutely sure you don't have anymore Counteragent left?" Frank asked Claire.

"No, nothing," she replied.  "Unless you count the Counteragent that went bad."

"Can you give him that for now?"

"Are you mad?  The chemical properties have changed.  It could poison him!"

"What about diluting it?" Frank suggested.  Claire folded her arms.

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about chemistry or physics," she said, surprised and doubtful.

"What can I say?  I had an epiphany."  Frank paused.  "OK, while I was at the computer I checked out a science website.  Happy?"

"That's actually not such a bad idea, Keep," Bobby agreed.  "At this juncture, we don't have much of a choice."  Both men's eyes were upon her.

"All right, I'll do it!" she said reluctantly.

"Good.  Parker, help me get Fawkes to the padded room," Bobby instructed, grabbing Darien's arms.

"The what?" Frank asked.

"Just grab him," Bobby ordered.  The two men picked him up and lugged him out of the Keep as Claire began the delicate task of fixing the bad Counteragent.

*~*~*~*

Darien woke up; to his dismay, he found himself in the dreaded padded room.  And of course, he was bound by the straightjacket.  His head still hurt, his blood was boiling, and he felt like ripping everyone's arms off.  "Screw you all!" he yelled out.  He knew they were watching him from behind the two-way mirror.  The door opened, and Claire and Bobby stepped in cautiously.  "What the hell do you want?" he growled.

"Relax, Fawkes; we're here to help," Bobby said.

"That's a laugh," he snorted snidely.

"How do you feel, Darien?" Claire asked.

"I feel like shit," Darien answered hotly.  "How long have I been out?"

"About thirteen hours," Claire replied.

"That was a pretty strong sedative you shot in me."

"You gave us no choice.  But fear not; there's good news."

"Oh, yeah?  And what could that possibly be?"

"The Keep found a way to salvage the bad Counteragent," Bobby chimed in.  "We've been giving you small doses of it every two and a half hours."

"Hmm…  Doesn't feel like it's been working," Darien retorted.

"At least it's prevented you from going to Stage 5," Claire reminded him.  Darien turned his face away from them and closed his eyes.  "Darien?"

"Fawkes?" Bobby said.  Darien did not answer.  "Great, now he's gonna ignore us.  Forget it, let's go."  They motioned for the agent outside to open the door; as they walked out, Frank entered.

"Fawkes," Frank said.  Darien did not acknowledge him.  He sat on the chair in front of Darien.  "For what it's worth, I know what you're going through."

"I doubt it," Darien replied without opening his eyes.

"You gotta fight this, Fawkes," Frank urged.  "Don't let it win."  Darien opened his eyes and he sneered at Frank.

"If only you knew what it was like to be treated like a guinea pig, like a goddamn puppet," Darien snarled.  "Do you have any idea what it's like to be tied up like this?"

"Actually, yeah.  I've been in my share of straightjackets at Hansen Island."

"What did you do about it?  What did you do about being locked away?"

"There wasn't much I could do about it.  The only way I could get through it was to think about things on the outside that I cared about.  Just holding on to that one good thought," Frank revealed.  "Like my son Jimmy."

"I don't have anyone out there, so your little Hallmark sentiment means nothing to me."  Darien then spat in Frank's face.  Frank wiped himself.

"Now was that nice?" he smiled.  Claire rushed in.  "He's getting aggressive again.  Maybe it's time for another shot."  Claire held up a syringe; she held Darien's arm and pushed the needle through the clothes.

"Fuck you," Darien grunted.  As the serum spread throughout his bloodstream, he could feel it fighting against the evil that threatened to engulf him.  The battle within him felt like a cloth being wrung as tightly as possible.  He screamed in pain until he could no longer stand it, and passed out.  Frank sighed.

"Is he going to make it?"

"I hope so," Claire whispered.

*~*~*~*

The next thirty-five hours moved painfully slow.  The diluted Counteragent helped buy some time, but Darien would go in and out of Quicksilver Madness.  Fortunately he began complying whenever the needle was brought in.  He remained quiet and still, standing only to pace around the room every so often.  He'd lied to Frank; he _did_ have someone on the outside he could hold on to:  his aunt Celia.  He hadn't seen her since Kevin "returned from the dead," even though he promised to come visit her more often.  Remembering how good, how patient she'd been with him growing up soothed the animal clawing inside him.  He always felt as though Kevin were the favorite of the two, but he could remember the delighted look on Aunt Celia's face when he came to see her at the retirement home.  How she was so happy to see him.  Didn't even hold his time in jail against him.  _That's gotta be real love_, he mused.  _Keep holding on to that one good thought, __Darien__!_

*~*~*~*

Bobby, Claire and Frank entered the padded room, all beaming.  The Counteragent was finally ready; Darien raised his head and exhaled.  Claire took the needle out.

"You ready?" she smiled.

"Bring it on," he joked.  She held his arm and carefully pushed the needle through.  When she had injected all the Counteragent, the three stood back and waited.  Darien closed his eyes.  He felt a warm sensation surging through him, lasting about five minutes.  He opened his eyes and looked at the three worried friends before him.  His pulse raced.

"You're OK," Bobby sighed gratefully.  "Your eyes are back to normal now."

"Can you take this damn thing off now?" Darien asked, trying to raise his arms.

"Sure thing, partner," Bobby smiled.  He, Claire, and Frank approached Darien, and began to unbuckle the straightjacket.  As soon as it was loose, Darien raised it over his head and threw it off.  He rubbed his eyes and shook the feeling back into his arms.

"How you doin'?" Frank asked.

"Pretty good now," Darien breathed.  "Hungry, though."

"I expect you would be," Claire concurred.

"I'll take you home, Fawkes," Bobby, offered.

"Yeah," Darien said.  He looked at his tattoo; all green.  He held it up to Claire.  "Look—good as new."

"Yes, try to keep it that way a little longer," Claire advised, somewhat jokingly.  Darien was about to exit the room, but stopped and held out his hand to Frank.

"Thanks, Frank," Darien said.  "And I'm sorry I spit in your face."

"You're welcome, Darien.  And worse things have happened to me," Frank smiled.  The four left the room, and Claire locked the door behind them.

*~*~*~*

The next evening Bradley Talmadge, Olga Vukavitch, and Frank stood in the parlor of Senator Carrington's mansion.  The clinked their glasses of champagne, celebrating Frank's successful mission.  Senator Carrington was holding a private audience with the Agency crew in another room, and the three of them knew why.  Talmadge decided to mingle with the other guests.  As the two waited, Frank watched Olga from the corner of his eye.  She looked great; the aqua blue gown she had on really brought out her eyes.  And of course, there was the décolleté that he couldn't resist glancing at.

"Mr. Parker?" she said, interrupting the beginning of a fantasy.

"Yes?"

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing, just how great you look."  The crooked grin on his face was a dead give-away that his thoughts bordered on the profane.  She rolled her eyes, and continued to sip her champagne.  "Actually, something just occurred to me.  You're kinda like my Keeper, right?"

"Sort of," Olga answered hesitantly.

"Claire calls Hobbes and Fawkes by their first names," he said.  "Don't you think it's time you started calling me Frank?"

"Well…" she began, but was interrupted by the Keeper calling out her name.  "Thank God," she mumbled and rushed off to meet Claire.

"But, you…" Frank stammered.  Bobby and Darien joined him.

"She wouldn't let you get anywhere, huh?" Bobby guessed.

"Yeah," Frank sighed.

"Tough break, kid.  Happens all the time."

"So how'd it go with the senator?"

"He loved it," Darien smiled proudly.

"Good for you; I had a hard time winning him over," Frank admitted.  "Then I saved his life."  The three chuckled.  Talmadge appeared.

"Frank, it's time to go," he said.

"Sure, Bradley.  Bobby, Darien—it's been real.  Take care of yourselves."  He shook hands with both of them.  "And tell Claire I said good-bye."

"No problem, Frank," Darien agreed.  Bobby tried to hide his scowl at that last comment.  "See ya!"  Bobby waved, and Frank was off.  A waiter served them two flutes filled with champagne.  They took the glasses and thanked him.

"What do we drink to?" Bobby asked.  Darien thought for a moment, and raised his glass.

"To sanity," he declared.  "Feels good."

"Mmm… whatever," Bobby said nonchalantly, and sipped his drink.

"Hey, we didn't even do the toast," Darien protested.

"Yeah, but you know…  Sanity's not my best suit."

"Have you been taking your meds?"

"I think I missed 'em while you went red-eye nutso…"  The two walked away, bantering about sanity and Bobby's meds.

_At least everything's back to normal now_, Darien thought.  _Or whatever normal is._

THE END 


End file.
